Chapter 4Supper was lavish, and interminable. Venison, stuffed goose, white soup, vegetable pies, jellies, so many blatant announcements of Lady Carness’s wealth and independence. Candles glinted and silver glimmered; the spice of Midwinter wassail punch, along with multiple strong wines, flowed. Kit thought momentarily of the winter nights of his and Anne’s childhood, the uncertainty of whether there’d be pies and oranges or cold and hunger, depending on whether their mother had had a current protector or not, and nights when she would not come home at all, and there’d be nothing in their rented rooms, so he’d have to go out and gently nudge someone, to do whatever he could, for supper because Anne could not be hungry…
Harry’s fingers were warm, in his. And Anne and Mary were happy and s
